When Reality Flickers In
by Fiddlestickz
Summary: Forgetful, unaware, thick-skulled, and stupid - Those were the words the other countries have used to describe America. His family have come to know the words held some truth, but that's just how America is, and that’s okay. But everything changes when America goes to a NAFTA meeting with his brothers, they notice America is acting a lot stranger than usual.
1. Prologue

**Hello! Thank you for checking out this story! Before we get started, I just wanted to give out some warnings.**

**TW: swearing, violence, FACE+Mexico+Spain, historically accurate terribleness + warnings to come?**

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**(Prologue)**

Foreign shouting plagued the air. It was a cry of war, or perhaps it was cruel rejoicement of their victory over the small tribe. Nothing was certain for the children. If one were to listen close enough, they may hear the echoes of laugh. But they had no such pleasures of being able to notice such fine details. Their rapid heartbeats, and the crackles of the fires raging only moments away. It amplified louder and louder, exceeding all other noises. Dread suffocated the air, as the students clung to one another. Arms wrapped around eachother. Fruitless hopes of comfort and protection.

The door flung open with a splintering bang. A dark silhouette of a figure stood, holding a strange object in their arms. The flames taunted them, as they danced behind the shadowed person. Pleading screams and sobbing filled air of the small school building.

A voice stood out above the screams. "_Please!"_ a young girl begged in her native tongue, "I don't want to die!" The others' cries echoed louder.

The intruder closed the door behind them, revealing themselves as their teacher, _Minnehaha_. She rushed towards them. A charred, burnt object laid in her arms, with a blanket wrapped around it. It didn't take long for the students to understand what the object was.

It was a child. An infant by the looks of it. The child must've been trapped under the flames for some time. It was difficult for the students to look at without becoming ill. The children immediately quietened at the horrific sight. They believed the baby was dead. After all, no newborn could survive such a terrible thing.

Yet, the baby proved them wrong, as it began to shriek ungodly cries.

Minnehaha glowered, looking each of her students in the eye. "What do you think you're doing? If you're not going to help, be quiet! If I were one of them, do you think I would spare your lives because you asked?" she bellowed, shouting over the child's screams. The students shrunk away from her, inching closer to the walls. They huddled closer together. Their teacher sighed, rubbing her forehead, wiping the built up sweat and soot onto her fingertips. A sudden string of coughs choked Minehaha, forcing her to sit down by the students. She had inhaled too much smoke tonight.

She sighed, holding the baby in her lap. Stroking the side of his head with the pad of her thumb in an futile attempt to calm him. His tears streamed down his face, leaving trails in the thick layer of ash. Every few seconds, he would let out a violent cough, trying to expel the smoke from his weak lungs.

"Minnehaha, i—is it going to be okay?" the young boy on her right—_Aputsiaq_ was his name—asked her in a shaky voice.

In spite of his concern, Minnehaha refused to dignify that question an answer. All the children were her students, whom she has practically raised for years. She knew they were not as stupid enough to believe the child could live. No matter how young or old they were, they knew. To pre-tell the infant's eventual fate aloud would be redundant and cruel.

Her gaze trailed down at the baby. Holding the back of his head as gentle as she could to keep him upright. _He looks so helpless_, she thought. She licked her thumb, and wiped the digit over the baby's cheeks. Cleaning off the little amount of residue that she could. It was a pointless action, she knew, of course. In the end, it didn't matter if she scrubbed him until his skin was raw and blistered. The child wan't going to make it. But, damn it all if Minnehaha didn't at least try to do something. Anything, to, at the very least, _feel_ like she was helping the dying little baby boy in front of her. She closed her eyes.

Crackles and murmuring of the fire resounded throughout the room. Crashing could be heard nearby; homes and buildings collapsed onto the foundation. The flames were getting closer. In a few moments, the building will catch fire, and there will be no where left to run.

They would no longer be able to hide. This was it, the ground below them would be the ground which they die on. It was their death sentence. A slow and painstaking, painful death of dozens of children and herself.

Self-preservation crept in her mind, and began to demand her to abandon everyone and flee. Without the children, she might be able to escape. She might be able to weave through the incinerated rubble. She might die trying, but there was a minute chance she might make it. Screw tradition, screw honor, screw pride. The people who enforced such laws were dead, it didn't matter if she forfeited her dignity for her life.

It made sense to Minnehaha, but as much as she tried, she couldn't actually do it. Pride and honor were the core of the tribe. Everything they've fought for, everything taught, it would all be for nothing if she left.

She had to be strong for everyone. For the children, for herself, for everyone who has lost their lives tonight, she had to be strong. Tears begun to well in her eyes, but with a shaky breath, she swallowed them back down. Minnehaha held the child closer to her chest, embracing him.

She prayed to any higher power that was willing to listen. She tried to recall the names of all the gods and spirits she has heard of in her lifetime, and silently cried out to them. For a blessing. For peace. For help. Anything.

This one thing, it was all she wanted from a higher power. She wanted to protect these children, then she would be satisfied. She would need nothing else, and would never complain again. Not about her work, not about the children, not about her family, nor her husband. Nothing. If she could sacrifice her life, so these children could have a future, she would do so in a heartbeat.

Yet, in the end, it was foolish thinking. The spirits and gods, she prayed to remained deafeningly silent. No one came to their aid.

All of them were destined to die that night.

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**Well, that was light-hearted wasn't it? The next chapters won't be as dark, promise. **

**Wait, what's that?! Hey look! It's already up. The next chapter! Quick go to the next chapter now! Hurry before it disappears! Go! Go! Go!**

**(Just kidding, it's not going anywhere.)**

**Thanks again for checking this story out, and have a nice day. :)**


	2. Chapter 1

"God, where is the _perra_-bitch? He was supposed to be here by now." The country of Mexico irritably checks his watch for the umpteenth time. He groans at the sight of the time, "Ughh! I flew _two-thousand_ miles up here on a _five-hour_ flight, and he lives what? like, a mile down the road? Yet, here I am! I show up on time, and where is he? He's no where to be seen!" he threw his hands up in frustration, "_Increíble!_"

The country of Canada was moving back and forth in his rolling chair, pivoting with his foot. His eyes were closed, trying to tune out the latter, but was failing miserably. "_Ignacio_," he says his brother's name, gaining his attention, "he probably got caught up by something. Haven't you seen American news lately? He's probably dealing with who-knows-what right now," Matthew sighs.

Ignacio scoffs, and leans far back in his chair, causing it to squeak audibly. He haughtily crosses his arms over his chest, sulking quietly.

They both sit in silence, which Matthew was grateful for. It was finally quiet, save for the sounds of Ignacio annoyingly tapping his foot, and the ticking of the clock hanging on the wall. Matthew eyes remain meditatively closed, trying to find any semblance of peace he could in this small, stuffy meeting room.

Being such a spacious country and having lots of landmass, he's admittedly, a little claustrophobic, and being trapped in a tiny space — especially with his aggravating younger brother — has been an absolutely miserable experience. It was nearly suffocatingly small. But he understood why Alfred chose it, since this room is solely used for North American meetings, he figured they didn't need that much space for _just the three of them_. Well, occasionally four if Greenland chose to come, but usually Greenland simply kept to himself, unless it was absolutely mandatory. He didn't like to think of himself as a North American country, but rather a European one.

Just as Canada was finally feeling slightly better, having his own thoughts to distract him from his claustrophobia for just a moment, Mexico suddenly shouts, "Gah! We should just start the meeting without him! It's been forty minutes!"

"Oh my God— _ta gueule!_" Matthew sharply inhales, "Ignacio it's been two goddamn minutes — hold on!" Matthew stomps over to a metal safe in the farthest corner of the room, which was the size of a small refrigerator. He punches in a few numbers on the keypad, and swiftly opens it, revealing his cellphone, "I'll text him, and tell him to hurry up."

"He's not going to answer, Matty, he never does. You're only going to get us in trouble if you're caught using—"

"Too late. I already sent it. I'm tired of you bitching and moaning." Just as quickly as he got it, he put the phone back into the safe, and closes the door, which locks itself automatically.

Ignacio glares at his brother. "I'm not bitching!" he bitches. Matthew shoots him a skeptical look, and returns to his seat. As he walks by, he smacks his younger brother in the back of the head, which caused a flurry of Spanish curses to come his way. Ignoring him, Matthew takes a seat opposite of Ignacio at the wooden table.

Ignacio leans back in his chair, stretching out his back. Then he raises his arms up high above his head, and yawns, "Well, if he doesn't hurry up..." He checks his watch again, then closes his eyes. "I'm going to sleep... I'm super jet-lagged."

Matthew sighs, "I'm sure Alfred will—"

The door slams open. Revealing their brother, Alfred, standing there with his hands on his hips, smiling heroically as he always does. "Hey, bro-bros! I'm here!"

"We can see that," Matthew snorts. He shifts in his seat to appear more professional, and vaguely gestures for him to take a seat.

Ignacio rolls his eyes at Alfred, unimpressed by his dramatic entrance. "What the hell took so long?"

Alfred takes an deep breath. "Well... McDonalds was wrapped up like crazy — can you believe that?! It's so early! What are people doing up so early? — Anyways, when I got up to the window, the lady said, 'You have to come inside to place catering orders, sir. If you want to place a catering order, please come inside,' like, she said it over and over again, but I told her, like, 'No! It's not a catering order, it's just me. I really do want 75 Big Macs, is that a crime, lady?' Gee-wiz! So then, I went up to the window, after like thirty minutes—"

"Okay, okay, thank you for sharing. Can we start the meeting now?" Matthew interrupts as kindly as he can.

Alfred's face falls at his brother's words. He walks over to his brothers, and dejectedly sits down in his seat at Ignacio's left, and Matthew's right. He droops his head in hands, looking like a kicked puppy.

The boys sit in an uncomfortable silence, as the two countries stare expectedly at the pouting superpower, not sure of what to do. America was the one that was supposed to be hosting this meeting, since they were in his country, so he needed to... well, start hosting.

"... Alfred, are you going to—" Mexico was interrupted.

"Oh—Oh yeah! Sorry," Alfred abruptly stands up from his seat, smiling brightly, "today... we're going to have a meeting."

The two other nations glance at each other, brows furrowed, completely stupefied, wondering to themselves if he was joking. Then they looked back at their oldest brother, and nod in his direction, encouraging him to continue. Alfred merely stands there, staring through the two nations, looking as if he was stage-frightened and had forgotten his lines.

"Go on..." Matthew says, slight confusion and worry present his voice.

He snaps out of it. "Oh, um, sorry. Uh, today— and... we're going to... we're going to talk about, uh," Alfred looks around with a strange look on his face, "trade," he finishes.

"... Alfred, you okay?" his youngest brother asks him, rare concern in his expression. His hand extends towards his brother, and gently holds onto his arm, trying to get him to sit back down.

Alfred looks carefully at him and nods, waving him off. "... Yeah, yeah. Oh yeah! I'm fine — just tired, and..." he scratches the back of his head, "a bit nervous," he admits, laughing anxiously.

"Nervous? Why are you nervous?" Matthew asks, puzzled. _Never_ in his lifetime has he ever heard his brother being nervous of _anything_, for as long as he could remember.

"Boss has been," Alfred fidgets, "changing a lot of stuff around. Stuff y'all might not care for too much," he explains, scratching the back of his head. Seemingly returning to normal. He clears his throat, and sits back down. "Anyway, sorry about that. Let's begin."

—

Alfred sighs, "I'm the host, and you're the guests. I should be the one to stay and clean up." He leans on the doorframe of the meeting room, while holding his coffee in hand.

"No, it's fine! You did it last time for us," Matthew replies, subtlety trying to push him out the door by inching closer.

Alfred looks away upon hearing his remark, slightly embarrassed at the sudden praise. He shifts from one foot to the other, and gives both his brothers a hesitant look, before he finally responds, "... Alright! If you say so. See you guys later." Alfred waves, and begrudgingly pushes himself off the doorway. He starts to walk away.

"Bye, see you later!" Matthew returns kindly. He peaks down the hallway, watching him turn the corner through the crack of the door. Once he was positive he was out of earshot, he frantically pushes the door closed, locking it behind him.

"Ignacio!" he gasps panically.

"Matthew!" Ignacio mocks, writing some final notes down in his notepad.

Matthew ignores his sarcasm. "What the hell was that?! You saw that too, right?" he looks over at his brother, who was still sitting at the table, "I'm not crazy right?"

"Hey, I don't know about all that now..." Ignacio laughs. As he finishes up, he pushes the notepad aside. He leans back in his chair, and puts his feet up on the table.

"Stop it, I'm being serious!" Matthew huffs, walking towards him. He puts both his hands onto the table, and stares at the table deep in thought, hunching over slightly.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"That episode, or whatever it was!" He threw his hand up to emphasize his point.

Ignacio raises an eyebrow, wondering if his older brother has officially lost his mind. Once he realizes Matthew wasn't going to let this go, he groans, "I don't know why you're making such a big deal out this, _Pendejo!_ He just..." he shakes his head, and gestures with his hands, trying to find the right word, "... _froze up_. It happens to the best of us."

"Not to Alfred it doesn't," Matthew says shortly. He began to pace the small room.

Ignacio scowls, and gives him a pointed look. "_¡Sí, sí él puede! _He messes up, too. The only person on the planet who hasn't frozen up while public speaking is, like, probably Germany or something."

"I _really_ don't think it was a mistake. Something happened to him, I just know it, and I can't figure out what." Matthew shakes his head.

"Oh? Then what do you suppose happened, _Detective Pendejo?_"

"Stop calling me that," Matthew grumbles quietly, stopping his pacing. He looks back at his brother.

"What?"

"_Pun-dayo_, or whatever you just said," Matthew explains, "I don't know what that means, but I have a feeling it's _no bueno_." Ignacio snickers.

"It means '_brother_', chill out," he replies. He dismisses the discussion, with a wave of his hand.

Matthew huffs, _"Back to the topic at hand_. What do you think happened?" Mexico unhelpfully shrugs in response. Matthew looks away. He starts to pace again. "Do you think he's hiding something?" he asks curiously.

"Maybe, but if he is... so what? He's allowed to have secrets. We all have secrets," Ignacio says.

"Government secrets, not personal one," he refutes. He narrows his eyes at the floor. "We need to devise a plan. Maybe we should—"

"What?! Devise a plan, like, this is some sort of top secret mission? trying to force information out of him?"

"If it comes to that, maybe."

Ignacio laughs. "What are you going to do? Stalk him? Interrogate him? Bug his phone? Or maybe bug his house too while we're at it?" Ignacio sneers. He leans forwards, looking his brother clear in the eye. "Do you _know_ how private Alfred is? I'm pretty sure trying to force information out of him — which he clearly doesn't want to share — would be like a declaration of war." He gives him a pointed look. "_World War III_, you really want to wage war against _our brother? _Not only would that be shitty to fight family, but he also has, like a _million_ nukes."

Matthew stops, and glares at his brother. "Oh my God, Ig! I'm worried about him! Is that a war crime?"

"_But why _are you so worried about this?"

"Because Alfred is _my brother_. We're supposed to talk about everything. We've had a long history that you just wouldn't understand. We're supposed to be close — close enough that we don't keep secrets from each other," Matthew explains, looking off distantly. Ignacio was gaping at his back. "Or at least, we're not supposed to keep secrets," Matthew adds quietly.

Ignacio looks away, hiding his face from his brother. His pulls his crossed arms over his chest tighter, and leans back. "... Well," he says, tone unusually sharp. "Why don't you just go talk to him then?"

"Pardon?"

"Why don't you just talk to him?" Ignacio repeats defensively.

"Well, I—"

"I mean, If he's keeping a secret from you, it's not a problem to just ask him, right? He'd trust you with that kind of secret, since you're _so close_. Just ask him!"

Matthew seems to seriously contemplate his words, completely unaware that his brother was truly upset. "You're right... I should just call him." He smiles. "I can invite him over for dinner... or even better I can sweet talk him into going out to one of his favorite restaurants and we can—"

The door slams, halting any further words. Before Matthew could even turn around to see who was at the door, it closes again immediately, just as violently as the first time. He looks around, only to find the room was completely empty. Matthew's arms drop to his sides.

"Ignacio...?"

—

"Ooh! You think you're so great, _pinche Pedejo? ¡Vete a la verga!_" Ignacio growls, as he stomps through the halls. "Ooo, look at me! I'm so close to _¡mi hermano! _Look at me!" he mocks in a fake Canadian accent. "Bitch!" He kicks over someone's water bottle sitting on the ground.

Construction workers in the building trying to do their job, glance over at the man, wondering what the hell he was going on about, but wisely stayed out of his way. When he spoke, some of the Spanish-speaking workers look over, mildly offended. The nation avoids eye contact with all of them. He had a destination in mind, and he had no time for obstacles. He was going home. Now.

"_¡Hijo de las mil putas pagará! _I will make sure of it! I'll— argh! I don't know what I'll do, but he will regret it!" he promises. Ignacio went down the elevator, and left the building as promptly as he could.

He snatches the keys out of his pocket, walks into the nearly empty parking lot. Besides himself, no other person was here. Most of the parking spots were taken by construction vehicles. He finds the reserved, '_foreign ambassador_' parking spaces with ease, and makes his way towards his car, a string of curses following his every step.

As he approaches it, the sound of a car skidding, squeaking loudly on the interstate behind him, causing him to briefly glance in the direction of the noise. When he doesn't see a car wreck or anything spectacular, he turns back around.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a familiar vehicle to his right. Alfred's car. Surprisingly, It was pulled right next to his own car. However, what was even more surprising, was when he looked through the window, he found him just sitting there, dazed in the driver's seat. America hadn't even noticed Ignacio, who was standing right in front of him.

Ignacio bit his lip, and walks around his brother's car, examining his entranced brother, who was holding onto the steering wheel. He debates if he should approach him directly, or just leave him be. He considers both options.

On one hand, Alfred could need serious help. Maybe he's incapacitated, and needs help driving to the hospital. Maybe something was disturbing him that he needed to let off his chest, and he needs emotional support. Not that Ignacio would be much help, since he wasn't the best at that kind of thing, but his half-assed attempt might be better than nothing. He inches closer to Alfred's window, but stops himself.

... But on the other hand, Alfred was also a nation. Meaning, his body and mind were a exact personification of America, and when something was off about a personification, chances are, it usually had something to do with the physical country, whether it was the economy, tragedies, wars, or whatever; it all had physical and mental effects on all the nations, and it seems likely that was what's going on with his brother. And as much as he'd like to, Ignacio can't really help him directly with economic troubles, so it would be pointless to confront him. It would only serve to make Alfred feel worse.

He glances towards the door of the building. And besides, Canada will come out in a minute or two. He could just let him deal with it, since he _apparently_ knew the latter best.

He scowls and shakes his head. It would do no good to relive the argument now, especially since Matthew would be coming out any second now, so he had to go quickly. He didn't want to confront his brother right now, he just wanted to go home.

Ignacio, albeit reluctantly, pretends he never even saw his brother. He gets in his car, and he drives away.

...

**Translations: **

**perra = bitch (yes, he called him a bitch-bitch)**

**increíble = unbelievable/amazing**

**ta gueule = shut up**

**pendejo = asshole**

**Sí, sí él puede = yes, yes he can**

**pinche = fucking**

**vete a la verga = slang for fuck you**

**mi hermano = my brother**

**hijo de las mil putas pagará = son of a thousand whores will pay (extreme ver. of son of a bitch)**

**Let me know if the translations are off, or if I missed anything.**


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